- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Since shipgirls had machine shops and faeries had incentive to use them?
Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
Or worse, machinists and seamen get bored between deployments.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Since when is "I'm bored" not an incentive? 
Not so much 'Incentive' as more like 'Primal Instinct'.Since when is "I'm bored" not an incentive?
B-baka!
Frustrated Art
- Location
- Some town in the Philippines
If every single heart warming snip theJMPer has made gave a diabetes, I'd die in a second. That said, these recent updates are really nice.
Eh, maybe. I remain skeptical of it though.
- Location
- Canada
Spectre
eternal servant to the Fire/EMS gods
- Location
- NY
Gale, there's a reason the trope is beware the quiet ones. While the rest of you are busy talking, we're busy scheming...
- Location
- Nowhere
mhm~ we learn to keep our mouth shut.
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Hibiki is probably either stocking up on vodka, or finding out where to take her sisters for a nice lunch or dinner.
- Location
- Nowhere
probably both. definitely the first.
Also, I feel like hibiki would so something like this:
Last edited:
- Location
- Deep in the Badlands of Equestria
Ah, a real liquid lunch that leaves you wasted for the rest of the day.probably both. definitely the first.
Also, I feel like hibiki would so something like this:
B-baka!
Frustrated Art
- Location
- Some town in the Philippines
As if there are any other better alternatives?
B-baka!
Frustrated Art
- Location
- Some town in the Philippines
I'll wait for that chapter because I know it's gonna be satisfying like the wedding-
*dies of old age*
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Apparently we get antics involving a Wolf and Pennsy, from what Iron said on Discord.
B-baka!
Frustrated Art
- Location
- Some town in the Philippines
That sounds a bit worrying since Pennsy's state is... rage filled to say the least.
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
Noh. No die. Not until story is done many centuries from now.
*malevolent laughter*
B-baka!
Frustrated Art
- Location
- Some town in the Philippines
Well, you are a Standard. And a shipgirl in avvie. You're
- Location
- Sunny SoCal
You can't just tease this and let the rest of us plebs wallow in suspense and ignorance. Do share.
...And yet not a boat
- Location
- 'Murica
Jersey had forgotten how much she absolutely fucking despised wearing her dinner dress uniform. Her ruffled tuxedo-pleated blouse was too crisp and starched for her to move comfortably in, and even standing perfectly made the fabric annoyingly tight in all the wrong places. The collar was too snug to accommodate Jersey's prodigiously developed neck muscles, and the less said about her triceps the better. And it was fucking white too, which meant Jersey couldn't wear any of her usual antifouling-red bras.
Which would've been okay, if there was a single fucking bra anywhere in the entire goddamn country that actually fit her. The subs had tried their best, but 'fuckhuge amazon' just wasn't a size you could find in short notice. In desperation, she eventually settled for having Hiei bind them down with some white bandages. It looked right under her blouse, but it still bothered the battleship to no end. Not only did she feel the tension every time she took a breath, she'd just gotten her bunkers enlarged.
At least her cropped jacket was worn open, which mitigated some of the problems her objectively and scientifically awesome rack caused. But it was also loaded down with a shockingly huge rack of miniature medals. All that off-center weight was pulling her jacket off balance, making the battleship even more painfully aware of how many decorations she was displaying. Decorations that… in her opinion she hadn't really earned. Yes, she'd been present at the events they commemorated, but it was her crew who actually won them.
She tried to rationalize that she was just promoting her crews' valor to a wider audience, but that explanation rang hollow in her own bridge. Especially now that she was surrounded by so many sailors and soldiers that they actually had earned.
Oh, and she was wearing a fucking tiara. Jersey was honestly astonished the goddamn thing was even still regulation. Apparently the navy agreed with her, there'd been a push to get rid of it, but then the war broke out and the brass had better things to do with their time. Which meant, hidden in the dusty back annex of some half-forgotten regulation manual, the dinner-dress tiara was still on the books. Which would have been fine, except somehow Jane found out and asked Jersey if she'd wear one.
Jersey absolutely fucking despised the idea of parading around in a fucking tiara. Again. But she just couldn't say no to the littlest—for a while at least—Richardson's pleas. If Jane asked her to wear a tiara, Jersey would wear a fucking tiara. Hell, it if was for Mutsu, she'd even fucking like it. Or at least try to hate every second with something less than the full fury she was capable of producing.
At the very least, her outfit wasn't nearly as humiliatingly salacious as the goddamn tits-out thigh-high rig she wore during the war. She… would admit she picked the braless scoop-neck gown in the hopes that an 'ill timed' nipple slip might shock Admiral Halsey into directing his undying love towards her instead of Enterprise—or at least making him acknowledge her presence. But how in the flying fuck had she ever thought garter-belted thigh-highs and a dress slit up to her ribs was a good idea?
Jersey scowled and swirled the last dregs of strawberry punch around in her plastic cup. It might be delicious, but it as fucking hard to brood while sipping something so pink Jersey couldn't even find a meaningful comparison. "It this seriously the manliest shit you have?"
A miniature simulacrum of battleship Mutsu, one that lacked the bigger version's flowing curves and noticeably pregnant belly, but made up for it with adorably squished proportions, glanced up from the tiny paddle board she'd been rowing around the punch bowl in. "Muu~" she said.
Jersey narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure?" She idly flicked at a bunch of cranberries floating in the sickeningly pink punch bowl.
"Mu!" Minimu crossed her stumpy arms with resolution.
Jersey scowled. "You and I need to have a discussion about what manly drinks are."
"Muuuu~"
"Don't sass me," Jersey poked Minimu in her little tummy, sending the little battleship tumbling to her tush as her raft glided lazily backwards. She was going to add another cutting retort, when she noticed something. The ripples from Minimu's raft had dislodged a clump of cranberries, but something that had been hiding among the clutter hadn't moved at all.
It looked… almost like a very small periscope. In fact, it looked exactly like a very small periscope. An exact duplicate of the ones fleet boats carried during the war. Jersey smiled, and a quick run of her tongue along her teeth confirmed that every last one had turned into a gleaming razor-sharp canine. "Ssh." She sushed Minimu and quietly fished a cranberry out of her own cup.
The small battleship glanced from Jersey to the periscope and nodded.
The bigger battleship carefully maneuvered her gloved hand with the delicacy of a brain surgeon. She craned her neck to make sure her aim was true, then let the berry fall with a quiet 'plop.'
The periscope hastily cranked underwater with a comical pop, and its owner crash-dove for the pinkish depths. Which would have worked better if the punch bowl wasn't punch-bowl sized and made of glass. A second later, a tiny figure in a white-on-gray swimsuit and punch-logged pants that looked like the'd been stolen from a doll house slammed into the glass with a quiet 'tink.'
"Fucking submarines," Jersey scowled. "Hey," she tapped a finger against the glass to get the sub's attention.
The sub froze, slowly drifting place without moving a muscle. Even her small chest was still as the grave as she rigged for silent running.
"I can see you, you little shit," said Jersey.
The submarine sighed, and slumped her little shoulders.
"Jane know you're around?"
The submarine shook her head.
"Want to keep it that way?"
"Mu!" Protested minimu.
"You," Jersey shifted her gaze to the small battleship. "Stay out of this."
"Muuu…"
The submarine nodded.
"Can you make it worth my while?" said Jersey with a smirk.
The submarine thought for a moment, then nodded and pressed a very small bottle against the punchbowl glass. It was too small for Jersey to read any of the soggy label's writing, but the contents were good and amber, which was enough for her.
"Hand it over," said Jersey.
The submarine nodded, and shallowed out. She didn't quite surface though, only her outstretched hand and her deliciously amber gift broached the surface.
Jersey smiled and plucked the thumbnail-sized bottle from the little sub's hand. "Pleasure doing bussines with you."
"Mu~"
"That's not relevant," Jersey bit the top off and spiked her drink as thoroughly as the minute bottle would allow. It wasn't much, but— But over there was that army LTC who'd escorted Kongou off the stage. She forgot his name, but given that he looked like every dad from every sitcom she'd ever watched, she mentally assigned his contact the name 'colonel dad.' More importantly, he was drinking what was clearly a bottled beer. "Mu, what the fuck?"
"Muu~"
"How is that!" Jersey scowled. Mutsu's miniature version had all the real deal's skill with the spoken word. If she was honest, the little battleship's argument was totally logically sound. She just didn't like it. "I hate you."
"Muuuuu."
Jersey rolled her eyes and set a course for beer. It Minimu wasn't going to cooperate, maybe she could count on the army to… to… coopera… fuck, she almost made it through that sentence without giggling. She bit her lip and forced an easy cool back into her powerful stride.
"Colonel," she nodded at the big man leaning against a silver-draped cocktail table. For a moment, she did the same. But the instant her arms touched the small surface, a shriek of buckling metal tore through the hall as her immense weight brought the poor thing well beyond its limits. She jerked back with a stuttering cough before the damage was permanent, but only just.
"Commander," the lieutenant-colonel smiled at Jersey. Then a moment later, he glanced at her bright pink drink and smiled again. "I'm surprised, figured you as more of a beer girl."
Jersey scowled at her painfully girly drink. It was like someone shoved Naka into a blender and added more glitter. "I… am actually, I just have a very small battleship I need to fucking murder."
The colonel chuckled. "Say no more, navy. I'll be right back."
Jersey nodded at him and tossed back her drink as angrily as possible. Which was reallyhard considering how frilly it was.
"Oh," As if summoned from the depths of hell itself, Naka came bouncing over with a smirk on her perfectly made-up face. "Hello, Jersey-chan."
"Go fuck yourself with a rusty chainsaw," said Jersey without missing a beat.
"Glad to know you're having fun," Naka beamed and leaned in for a brief kiss to Jersey's cheek.
Jersey rolled her eyes. "Hey, good work with the livestream."
"Thanks," Naka somehow curtsied in her micro-skirted traffic-cone dress. "Anyway, I'm gonna mingle."
"You do that," Jersey rolled her eyes and chuckled to herself. As Naka bounced off to be annoyingly Japanese somewhere else, the battleship was left alone with her drink and thoughts. Her icy blue eyes lazily perused the crowd. Mutsu and Richardson were at one end of the hall, greeting well-wishers while a cluster of destroyers huddled around the pregnant battleship's middle. The taffies were behaving themselves for once, which was nice. Shinano was… apparently off hiding somewhere, because Jersey couldn't see the littlest Yamato anywhere.
And there was a woman in the crowd who Jersey couldn't stop looking at. A woman who radiated levels of smug that shouldn't be humanly possible to attain.
"Here ya go, navy." Jersey's concentration was broken by the return of the Colonel. And also, by the beer he brought with him. She absentmindedly tore the cap off with her teeth and took a long drink. Not the best she'd ever had, but certainly better than that girly-ass shit Minimu was serving.
"Army," Jersey raised her bottle and tapped it against his with a ring of frosty glass. "That's your wife, right?"
The Colonel chuckled. "Who, the hot one?"
Jersey nodded. "Lucky man."
"You don't even know."
The battleship scoffed. "So… she's human, right?"
The Colonel apparently found that very funny. He almost choked on his drink before responding. "Yeah, human."
"Okay," Jersey sighed, and tried to figure how she'd phrase her next question. "If she's not a boat…" She lazily drew circles with the base of her bottle, "Why does she have pagodas?"
The colonel's response was to spit a mouthful of beer all over the tablecloth and howl with laughter.
Which would've been okay, if there was a single fucking bra anywhere in the entire goddamn country that actually fit her. The subs had tried their best, but 'fuckhuge amazon' just wasn't a size you could find in short notice. In desperation, she eventually settled for having Hiei bind them down with some white bandages. It looked right under her blouse, but it still bothered the battleship to no end. Not only did she feel the tension every time she took a breath, she'd just gotten her bunkers enlarged.
At least her cropped jacket was worn open, which mitigated some of the problems her objectively and scientifically awesome rack caused. But it was also loaded down with a shockingly huge rack of miniature medals. All that off-center weight was pulling her jacket off balance, making the battleship even more painfully aware of how many decorations she was displaying. Decorations that… in her opinion she hadn't really earned. Yes, she'd been present at the events they commemorated, but it was her crew who actually won them.
She tried to rationalize that she was just promoting her crews' valor to a wider audience, but that explanation rang hollow in her own bridge. Especially now that she was surrounded by so many sailors and soldiers that they actually had earned.
Oh, and she was wearing a fucking tiara. Jersey was honestly astonished the goddamn thing was even still regulation. Apparently the navy agreed with her, there'd been a push to get rid of it, but then the war broke out and the brass had better things to do with their time. Which meant, hidden in the dusty back annex of some half-forgotten regulation manual, the dinner-dress tiara was still on the books. Which would have been fine, except somehow Jane found out and asked Jersey if she'd wear one.
Jersey absolutely fucking despised the idea of parading around in a fucking tiara. Again. But she just couldn't say no to the littlest—for a while at least—Richardson's pleas. If Jane asked her to wear a tiara, Jersey would wear a fucking tiara. Hell, it if was for Mutsu, she'd even fucking like it. Or at least try to hate every second with something less than the full fury she was capable of producing.
At the very least, her outfit wasn't nearly as humiliatingly salacious as the goddamn tits-out thigh-high rig she wore during the war. She… would admit she picked the braless scoop-neck gown in the hopes that an 'ill timed' nipple slip might shock Admiral Halsey into directing his undying love towards her instead of Enterprise—or at least making him acknowledge her presence. But how in the flying fuck had she ever thought garter-belted thigh-highs and a dress slit up to her ribs was a good idea?
Jersey scowled and swirled the last dregs of strawberry punch around in her plastic cup. It might be delicious, but it as fucking hard to brood while sipping something so pink Jersey couldn't even find a meaningful comparison. "It this seriously the manliest shit you have?"
A miniature simulacrum of battleship Mutsu, one that lacked the bigger version's flowing curves and noticeably pregnant belly, but made up for it with adorably squished proportions, glanced up from the tiny paddle board she'd been rowing around the punch bowl in. "Muu~" she said.
Jersey narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure?" She idly flicked at a bunch of cranberries floating in the sickeningly pink punch bowl.
"Mu!" Minimu crossed her stumpy arms with resolution.
Jersey scowled. "You and I need to have a discussion about what manly drinks are."
"Muuuu~"
"Don't sass me," Jersey poked Minimu in her little tummy, sending the little battleship tumbling to her tush as her raft glided lazily backwards. She was going to add another cutting retort, when she noticed something. The ripples from Minimu's raft had dislodged a clump of cranberries, but something that had been hiding among the clutter hadn't moved at all.
It looked… almost like a very small periscope. In fact, it looked exactly like a very small periscope. An exact duplicate of the ones fleet boats carried during the war. Jersey smiled, and a quick run of her tongue along her teeth confirmed that every last one had turned into a gleaming razor-sharp canine. "Ssh." She sushed Minimu and quietly fished a cranberry out of her own cup.
The small battleship glanced from Jersey to the periscope and nodded.
The bigger battleship carefully maneuvered her gloved hand with the delicacy of a brain surgeon. She craned her neck to make sure her aim was true, then let the berry fall with a quiet 'plop.'
The periscope hastily cranked underwater with a comical pop, and its owner crash-dove for the pinkish depths. Which would have worked better if the punch bowl wasn't punch-bowl sized and made of glass. A second later, a tiny figure in a white-on-gray swimsuit and punch-logged pants that looked like the'd been stolen from a doll house slammed into the glass with a quiet 'tink.'
"Fucking submarines," Jersey scowled. "Hey," she tapped a finger against the glass to get the sub's attention.
The sub froze, slowly drifting place without moving a muscle. Even her small chest was still as the grave as she rigged for silent running.
"I can see you, you little shit," said Jersey.
The submarine sighed, and slumped her little shoulders.
"Jane know you're around?"
The submarine shook her head.
"Want to keep it that way?"
"Mu!" Protested minimu.
"You," Jersey shifted her gaze to the small battleship. "Stay out of this."
"Muuu…"
The submarine nodded.
"Can you make it worth my while?" said Jersey with a smirk.
The submarine thought for a moment, then nodded and pressed a very small bottle against the punchbowl glass. It was too small for Jersey to read any of the soggy label's writing, but the contents were good and amber, which was enough for her.
"Hand it over," said Jersey.
The submarine nodded, and shallowed out. She didn't quite surface though, only her outstretched hand and her deliciously amber gift broached the surface.
Jersey smiled and plucked the thumbnail-sized bottle from the little sub's hand. "Pleasure doing bussines with you."
"Mu~"
"That's not relevant," Jersey bit the top off and spiked her drink as thoroughly as the minute bottle would allow. It wasn't much, but— But over there was that army LTC who'd escorted Kongou off the stage. She forgot his name, but given that he looked like every dad from every sitcom she'd ever watched, she mentally assigned his contact the name 'colonel dad.' More importantly, he was drinking what was clearly a bottled beer. "Mu, what the fuck?"
"Muu~"
"How is that!" Jersey scowled. Mutsu's miniature version had all the real deal's skill with the spoken word. If she was honest, the little battleship's argument was totally logically sound. She just didn't like it. "I hate you."
"Muuuuu."
Jersey rolled her eyes and set a course for beer. It Minimu wasn't going to cooperate, maybe she could count on the army to… to… coopera… fuck, she almost made it through that sentence without giggling. She bit her lip and forced an easy cool back into her powerful stride.
"Colonel," she nodded at the big man leaning against a silver-draped cocktail table. For a moment, she did the same. But the instant her arms touched the small surface, a shriek of buckling metal tore through the hall as her immense weight brought the poor thing well beyond its limits. She jerked back with a stuttering cough before the damage was permanent, but only just.
"Commander," the lieutenant-colonel smiled at Jersey. Then a moment later, he glanced at her bright pink drink and smiled again. "I'm surprised, figured you as more of a beer girl."
Jersey scowled at her painfully girly drink. It was like someone shoved Naka into a blender and added more glitter. "I… am actually, I just have a very small battleship I need to fucking murder."
The colonel chuckled. "Say no more, navy. I'll be right back."
Jersey nodded at him and tossed back her drink as angrily as possible. Which was reallyhard considering how frilly it was.
"Oh," As if summoned from the depths of hell itself, Naka came bouncing over with a smirk on her perfectly made-up face. "Hello, Jersey-chan."
"Go fuck yourself with a rusty chainsaw," said Jersey without missing a beat.
"Glad to know you're having fun," Naka beamed and leaned in for a brief kiss to Jersey's cheek.
Jersey rolled her eyes. "Hey, good work with the livestream."
"Thanks," Naka somehow curtsied in her micro-skirted traffic-cone dress. "Anyway, I'm gonna mingle."
"You do that," Jersey rolled her eyes and chuckled to herself. As Naka bounced off to be annoyingly Japanese somewhere else, the battleship was left alone with her drink and thoughts. Her icy blue eyes lazily perused the crowd. Mutsu and Richardson were at one end of the hall, greeting well-wishers while a cluster of destroyers huddled around the pregnant battleship's middle. The taffies were behaving themselves for once, which was nice. Shinano was… apparently off hiding somewhere, because Jersey couldn't see the littlest Yamato anywhere.
And there was a woman in the crowd who Jersey couldn't stop looking at. A woman who radiated levels of smug that shouldn't be humanly possible to attain.
"Here ya go, navy." Jersey's concentration was broken by the return of the Colonel. And also, by the beer he brought with him. She absentmindedly tore the cap off with her teeth and took a long drink. Not the best she'd ever had, but certainly better than that girly-ass shit Minimu was serving.
"Army," Jersey raised her bottle and tapped it against his with a ring of frosty glass. "That's your wife, right?"
The Colonel chuckled. "Who, the hot one?"
Jersey nodded. "Lucky man."
"You don't even know."
The battleship scoffed. "So… she's human, right?"
The Colonel apparently found that very funny. He almost choked on his drink before responding. "Yeah, human."
"Okay," Jersey sighed, and tried to figure how she'd phrase her next question. "If she's not a boat…" She lazily drew circles with the base of her bottle, "Why does she have pagodas?"
The colonel's response was to spit a mouthful of beer all over the tablecloth and howl with laughter.
- Location
- Mi
Is this a retcon? I seem to remember that the ship girls weren't sentient as such before they were summoned...which makes Jersey wearing a "Fuck Me" dress to try to catch her admiral's eye seem a bit odd.
- Location
- 'Murica
Shipgirls have always been sentient as long as they're crewed. Getting turned into museums makes them sleepy, but a working ship is as alive and alert as she'll ever be.
Stahor
BookWorm
- Location
- Russia, Moscow
